Chasing The Horizon
by Star Vortex
Summary: Enchanted Forest Captain Duckling AU. Emma is the 28-year-old heir to the throne of Misthaven facing mounting pressure to take the crown and a husband with her parents' retirement looming. But when she is approached by a boy claiming to be her son it leads her straight into the clutches of the infamous Captain Hook, who may be able to prove her path isn't as defined as she thought.
1. Thief Misunderstood

"Really, my lady, you must sit still; it won't lace properly if you keep moving about."

Emma sighed and set her quill down obediently, drawing a somewhat exasperated huff from her lady in waiting as the strings of the corset were pulled tighter. The princess gasped as her ribs were crushed together, but didn't bother complaining; she couldn't very well fit into the latest fashion if she could breathe properly, and heavens forbid she was less dressed than those around her.

That didn't mean she had to _like_ it, though.

"Are you done, Anastasia?"

"Almost…" another yank, another pained breath, and then her lady in waiting––a brown-eyed brunette with a face that seemed to always be frozen into a permanent mask of bafflement––stepped back. "There. That should be enough."

Emma rolled her eyes at nothing in particular and picked up her quill again, returning her focus to the parchments spread over her desk. _Request of Transfer. Request of Hearing. Recruit Approval. Request of Resources._ Request after request glared up at her insistently, begging for her signature and seal; not as many as last week, it was true, but enough to take up some time. Although, if given the choice, Emma would honestly have preferred a veritable mountain of paperwork over corsets and dresses and her lady in waiting's fussy fingers.

"My lady, you mustn't!" Anastasia exclaimed, pushing the quill straight out of Emma's hand. "You'll get ink on your lovely dress. The reception will begin in an hour; we can't ruin your clothing this close to the ball. Leave that until tomorrow; you've already taken care of the pressing matters. Everything else can wait for one more night."

"What does it matter if I get ink on this, though? If anyone sees my _corset_ tonight I'll be having much bigger problems than a stain."

"It'll bleed through the moment we put the dress on you. Now up; this piece is going to look beautiful on you."

Emma spared one last longing look at her paperwork, then dropped her head in defeat and stood up from her desk. Anastasia cooed happily and set to work, pulling layer upon layer of satin over Emma's body and continuing to remark upon the fine quality of the cloth and lacings. A single glance would prove the woman right; the dress had been imported from… somewhere Emma couldn't remember, but she was certain it was far away and expensive, and it radiated wealth. The lace was meticulously crafted. The satin was close-woven and shimmering. There were pearls embedded in the collar that spilled over her chest in what was probably a beautiful pattern. Actually donning the thing, however, was exactly like every other dress Emma had ever donned; uncomfortable, time-consuming and probably not as important as Anastasia thought it was. She tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling as a way to endure the monotony, counting the stars that were lain in the stone. They were made to amuse a child's eye, but well-made enough to make an adult less painfully bored. Yes, it was a bit odd that a full-grown princess still lived in her childhood nursery, but being a princess came along with the perk that no one gave her trouble about it. And besides, it wasn't as if she was still living in a crib; the majority of her childhood furnishings had been removed long ago and traded for a bed more suitably sized to an adult, an end table and chairs near the hearth and a generous desk with enough space to house the work she needed to do on a daily basis. She liked the room, not just for its familiarity but also because it wasn't obnoxiously large; she had once tried to move into a room her parents thought was more appropriate for her, which had had so much empty space that Emma had feared she would get lost if she decided to walk around in the middle of the night. No, this room was perfectly suited for her tastes; luxurious but utilitarian, comfortable but not ostentatious. She had allowed herself a bed that was almost half the size of traditional royal sleeping arrangements, which was still quite large enough for three people to sleep pleasantly. All things considered, her bed was probably the most 'appropriately' royal thing she lived with, which admittedly wasn't saying much.

Emma's bored meanderings of the mind were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door, and she looked over to it hopefully.

"Princess?" The rough, familiar voice of Grumpy grated through the boards. "Are you in there, sister?"

"She's dressing!" Anastasia chided.

"What is it, Grumpy?" Emma called out. _Anything_ would be more interesting than standing around, waiting for the dress to be finished.

"There's a situation in the guest quarters. We'd like to know what to do with it, since your father's making us keep everything quiet tonight."

"Oh no," growled Anastasia. "Not right now. She's almost done, and we can't stop halfway through. Tell him, my lady."

Emma sighed sadly and closed her eyes. "Is it a matter of life or death?"

"Not yet. Can't promise for how long, though."

"Can it wait for five more minutes?"

"... Yeah. Sure. But no more than that."

Anastasia let out a huff. "Are you absolutely determined to ruin your dress before the ball even begins, my lady?"

"Not if I get to the guest quarters soon enough to deal with this before it gets worse."

"Fine. But I won't take any blame from your parents if you show up disheveled."

"Noted."

Anastasia set herself back to work, lacing and tying and knotting and hooking one piece to another. It remained dreadfully tedious, especially now that Emma knew there was something definitely more interesting waiting for her once it was finished. It didn't take much actual time for the job to be completed, but it still felt like an eternity before Anastasia finally let out an admiring sigh and stepped back to survey her handiwork.

"There. You look stunning, Emma." She smiled fondly. "Let's take a look in the mirror, shall we?"

Emma turned and looked into the full-length mirror that was set against the wall. Anastasia had been right. At least, Emma certainly looked _nice_ ; the shape of the dress sharpened her curves and squared her shoulders, with a knotwork of pearls cascading from her collar over her chest and to one hip. It was well-made and definitely fashionable; even though Emma had never looked very good in the color white, it would impress those it needed to impress.

Another knock at the door. "Sister?"

Emma shot an determined look at Anastasia, swished her skirt experimentally, then made her way towards the door. "I'm coming, Grumpy."

He waited for her in the hall, stepping out of the way when she opened the door to join him.

"Nice dress."

"Thanks." Emma turned and led them down the hall, towards the guest quarters. "What's happened?"

"A thief," Grumpy replied. "He broke into the guest quarters and almost made off with half the candlesticks."

Emma gave him a sharp look. "I thought we had all entrances to the castle covered."

"So did we."

"How did he get in?"

"We don't know. Window?"

"How long have you been holding him?"

"Ten minutes, maybe? Came to you soon as we had him caught. He's in the dungeon."

Emma sent a mental curse towards Anastasia's need to take so long with dresses and changed their course. "We don't have any time to waste, then."

They ended up having less time than they thought; halfway to the dungeon, their trek was met by a sprinting, out-of-breath Sneezy.

"Sneezy!" Grumpy said, grabbing his brother's arm. "What's going on?"

"Thief––" sneeze, "––almost escaped––" sneeze, "––in the dungeon––" sneeze, "––unlocked the––" sneeze, "––cage."

Emma set off immediately instead of waiting for the dwarf to elaborate, hoisting up her skirts and doing as much of a run as she could, which didn't turn out to be nearly as quick as she would have liked. The hallways grew steadily more rough and dank as she made her way into the bowels of the palace, floor turning to simple wooden boards strewn with straw. When she finally burst through the dungeon door, she was met with a deafening tangle of fists and shouting; Doc, Bashful and two guards were struggling to restrain someone trapped between them, someone who was slippery and lean enough to _almost_ wriggle free before being snatched back into the fray by stubborn hands over and over.

Emma sighed when she caught a glance of the thief's hair, a short, not-quite-blonde layer of fur over a long face and a decidedly dusty complexion. She knew better than to involve herself; there were four more guards standing by each of the possible exits, ready to grab the thief if he did manage to free himself. That eventuality was growing less and less likely by the second; the dwarves and guards were gaining the upper hand. In another minute, they had subdued him.

When the shouting died down, the guard standing by the door took the opportunity to announce Emma's arrival.

"Princess present!" he called out. "At attention!"

The room stiffened instantly; the guards at the exits straightened, straight ahead as if in perfect formation, and the clump in the middle of the room hoisted their prisoner to his feet and wheeled him to face Emma.

The thief grinned. "'Ello there, majesty."

Emma sighed. "Hey there, Scarlet. Care to share what you were doing bothering my guests at this hour?"

"Well, it's actually th'funniest thing. See, there's some taxes went missing from a poor little hamlet just on the outside of your borders, and, seein' as how they ain't got no strong people like you lookin' out for 'em…"

"... You just thought you'd do them a favor and get those taxes back?"

"Exactly! So you see, there's really no reason for all this. I'm a hero, see, just like you. S'all just one big misunderstandin'."

Emma _hmmed_ skeptically, then turned to rake her gaze over the rest of the room. It was dimmer than she would have liked, although there wasn't much she could do about that; there were only a few lanterns embedded into the wall, and while daytime could send light streaming through the cell windows, the sun was almost down and could only produce a weak, dull yellow glow. It was a difficult light to track by, but not impossible; the straw on the floor was disturbed throughout the dungeon, telling tales of what had happened before her arrival. One cell in particular stood with its door wide open, and the straw had been kicked up viciously near the door.

Emma pointed to the open cell. "Is that where he was being held?"

One of the guards nodded. "Yes, your majesty."

"I won't ask for an apology," Scarlet said, brow furrowing. "Seein' as heroes forgive each other'n'all."

"Shut up!" Grumpy commanded.

Emma entered the open cell and went to examine the window. The dungeon was on the first level of the castle, and she could see the outline of ground and foliage beyond. She could also see a distressingly deep… was that a _cut?_ Yes, someone had apparently managed to _cut_ through one of the bars and halfway through a second, making a space that wasn't yet large enough for a person to slip through.

Turning to the thief and his captors, Emma gave a quick nod. "Keep him there. Don't let him move, and don't take your hands off of him. I'll be back." She turned to leave, but paused and shook her head when Grumpy made to follow her. "No, this is something I have to do by myself. I'm going alone, and if I need help I'll shout."

"Where you going, sister?"

"Out." That was the only explanation she gave before picking her skirts back up and making her way out of the dungeon. The servant's quarters and kitchens weren't far, and both would have doors to the exterior of the castle; taking the smaller hallways kept her relatively out of sight, save for the occasional maid or page that saw her, stopped and bowed until she had passed. Her journey was quick and soon saw her stepping into the open air.

The western horizon still had dashes of red and purple splattered on the skyline, but nighttime was quickly wrapping over the land like a veil. Shadows lengthened, stars twinkled from above and there was a soft shimmer in the east as the moon made ready to rise. The castle itself was bustling with activity; servants, both foreign and native, ran from one place to another to care for their masters' belongings and wealth and get it to where it needed to be. Torches glowed from every wall, turning the courtyards and green spaces into a patchwork of orange and black flickers that made the entire palace seem oddly shapeless, forging an endless sea of dapples and shades that tricked the eye into seeing things that were not there.

As it was, the area Emma had chosen was mostly used by those servants that actually lived in the castle, and who all had their hands full elsewhere. She could see others moving about in other, more well-lit areas, but she herself remained mostly out of sight.

Good. She needed to be unknown if she wanted to get to the bottom of Will Scarlet's thievery.

Emma made her way across the edge of the castle until she came to the dungeon exterior. The wall was almost completely blank save for the occasional gap filled with bars marking the locations of the cells. It took a moment for her to locate the damaged window, and a quick glance inside reassured her that their thief was still in captivity. Outside the window, however, was something Emma had suspected would be waiting for her: footprints paced just outside the half-missing bars, crouching here and there and then bracing against the wall.

Whoever damaged the bars hadn't been doing so from inside.

"I know you're out there!" Emma called into the darkness. "We have Will Scarlet. We're willing to negotiate, but you have to come out and talk! I've come alone. No tricks. Just talking."

A moment of silence, and then there was the rustle of cloth and leather as a dark cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, putting away the bow that had been cocked.

"My lady," the figure said. "Isn't it a bit early for you to be out and about? I had heard that you'd have other duties tonight."

"Yeah, well, I had to delay on account of a thief breaking in and bothering our guests."

The figure let out a weary sigh and took down his hood, revealing a square face, blonde hair and brow furrowed by many years of worry. "I apologize on his behalf. I'm certain he didn't mean to disturb your guests."

"I'm certain. But the Sheriff of Nottingham won't be arriving until tomorrow; there's only one thing he is ever on time for, and parties are not it."

The man grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know. Believe me, I know, and I had no idea that Will was coming here."

"Well, he's here now, and I've got a brand new hole in one of my cells to prove it."

"I'm sorry for that, too. But I need him out, and it seemed unlikely that you would simply release him after disturbing so many."

"There wasn't a disturbance. We've been keeping this quiet."

He tilted his head. "How many know?"

"Guards. Ours, not theirs. No one else yet, although the servants are probably already spreading the word."

The man opened his mouth, then closed it, hovering on the edge of words but not taking the leap to say them. Eventually, "I still need him back, my lady. I don't want to trouble you more than you already are, but I'm not leaving without him."

Emma sighed. "Look, we don't want him. We got what he stole and we can fix the window, and I don't want to spend more men than I have to guarding him. But this night is important. If I give him back to you, can you lay low for tonight? _Please?_ I don't care what goes on tomorrow, but I'd really appreciate this night being as quiet as possible."

He chuckled. "Of course. That was _meant_ to be the plan in the first place." He cast an irritated look at the cell window. "If you release him, I promise he will be kept under control."

Emma let out a breath of relief. "Thank you. He's still in the dungeon." She turned to leave, and he fell into step at her shoulder, feet absolutely silent even when they made their way into the castle and began to walk over wood. Emma couldn't help a bit of envy; how many balls would she be able to avoid with stealth like his?

They stopped halfway to the dungeon when a servant appeared at the other end of the hall, and her companion vanished until the servant had passed out of sight. When their environment was clear and no footsteps were approaching, he left his hiding place on the ceiling and returned to her side.

"Busy home you've got," he observed.

"It's a busy night."

"For more than you, it would seem."

They finished the journey in silence. Emma was immensely thankful when they opened the door to a relatively calm and non-violent room. It remained as she had left it, with guards at all exits and their captive in the middle.

"Princess present!" one of the guards shouted. "At attention!"

Everyone stiffened, and the guards stiffened even more when her companion followed her inside.

Grumpy was entirely unperturbed. "Hey, Robin."

Her companion nodded. "Grumpy."

"Hood!" Will exclaimed. "Where you been, mate? Listen, you mind explainin' t'these gentlemen that I wasn't stealin' nothin' wasn't stolen already?"

Emma nodded at the dwarves. "Let him free."

Will shook off their irritated hands and stood up, brushing the dust and straw from his jacket. "See? We're all friends here. S'just a big misunderstanding is all. Right, Robin?"

Robin Hood rolled his eyes and crossed the distance to Will, grabbing his arm. "Let's go. We've no business here tonight."

"But them taxes…"

" _Go."_ The archer pushed his ward towards the door, pausing to throw a final apologetic glance over his shoulder. "This was a misunderstanding. He won't bother you anymore."

Emma gave him a weary smile. "Just keep him out of trouble for one night and we'll call it even."

Robin Hood nodded. "Fair enough. And, my lady?"

"Yes?"

"Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

The two men left, and the entire room breathed a collective sigh.

"Well," said Doc, taking off his glasses to clean them. "That wasn't as terrible as it could have been."

"What are you talking about?" Grumpy contested. "What _was_ that? Why did we let him go? He _stole_ from the party guests!" He shot a look at Emma. _"Your_ party guests."

"We can't afford to move our guards more than absolutely necessary. I processed our last prisoner yesterday so we wouldn't have anyone to worry about anyone tonight."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we can just let thieves go without consequences! What will Cinderella do when she finds out someone almost stole her glass slippers?"

"She won't find out," Emma said, shaking her head when Grumpy opened his mouth to debate her. "No. I'm in charge of the dungeon, and I say that what happened here was confidential. All the goods will be returned, and none of you are to breathe a word of this. Am I understood?"

The guards nodded obediently, followed by the dwarves and the somewhat reluctant Grumpy.

"Good. Now, if there's nothing else to discuss, I'm already late and my parents are going to hunt me down if I don't get up to that ball."

* * *

As always, opinions and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!


	2. Light And Laughter

Emma arrived to light and laughter.

The sun was almost completely down, leaving only the barest hints of purple on the western skyline, but there was no lack of illumination for the party. The grand ballroom's three chandeliers had been loaded with double the usual wicks, and the rest of the room was ablaze with artful displays of candles kept regularly burning by servants that scurried to replace them before they burnt out. And in between the candles flowed an ocean of color and sound; nobles and royalty from all of the bordering kingdoms and principalities, as well as several from the more distant ones, had attended to display their good will and support. The firelight glinted off of miles and miles of colored gossamer and lace as the guests wove in between each other, accompanied by the dull murmur of conversation and laughter. The vast majority of the guest list seemed to be present, near as Emma could tell, and although the official celebration rituals did not seem to have begun, there were a number of guests––primarily the younger ones––that had taken it upon themselves to make use of the slow music and begin a single small waltz ring in the far corner. Not at all organized, and certainly not officiated by any of the native guests; the dance had sprung into existence as a way to alleviate boredom until the ball got off the ground.

After all, a ball couldn't very well begin when the birthday girl wasn't there.

Extremely self-conscious about her tardiness, Emma tried her best to keep her head down as she slipped into the crowd, hoping to find her parents before she was found by anyone else.

"Emma! There you are!"

It was a dream cut short by a head of bouncing yellow curls that came towards her armed with a dazzling smile. She was a graceful woman, young, with brown eyes and round cheeks that seemed to have been made exclusively for the purpose of smiling. Her dress was marginally more expensive-looking than most, with generous ribbons and lace to frame sky-blue satin. It was a dress Emma recognized as the signature shape and color of another, different, older woman, one who stood not far off and was sparing a curious glance Emma's way; Cinderella had heard her daughter's exclamation upon seeing the other princess, and Emma was infinitely thankful that the neighboring queen was not following suit and investigating.

"Alexandra," Emma said, dipping into a respectful curtsey.

"Where have you _been?_ " Alexandra asked, grabbing Emma's hands warmly. "You weren't here––imaging, a princess missing her own birthday party!––but we heard the most terrifying thing from one of the servants. They said that something was going on behind our backs, and that _Robin Hood_ was involved!"

How fast did servants spread rumors, anyway? Emma opened her mouth, but the sudden question had caught her off guard; it took a moment for her to formulate a response, and a moment was all Alexandra needed to jump to conclusions.

"Oh my, he _was?_ That's terrifying! And that… is _that_ where you were? Dealing with Robin Hood?"

"Alexandra, _please._ "

"Emma!" Two more figures had caught sight of her and were heading to join the conversation.

Alexandra waved them over. "Rose! Davan! You would not _believe_ what happened!"

Rose Briar's face lit up. "Is it something to do with where you were? We've _all_ been wondering. Right, Davan?"

Davan, the slender, golden-haired son of King Frederick and Queen Abigail, responded by looking pointedly at his shoes.

"Listen," Emma said, "can we please not talk about this right now? I'm very glad you're all here, and I'm very sorry I'm so late; there were some things I had to take care of. I had no choice."

Alexandra shot her a knowing look, then nodded seriously at Rose and Davan. " _Official_ business."

"Really?" Rose's eyebrows shot up. "Well, that's nice and mysterious of you. Tease."

Emma gave Alexandra a grateful glance. "Sorry. I would love to talk, but I should probably find my parents and let them know I'm here before they break out the rangers and hunting dogs. Have you seen them tonight?"

Rose nodded. ""Yes, I believe they're further back in the room. Locked in a conversation with _your_ parents," she looked at Davan with amusement glittering in her eyes, "last I saw."

"Let's find them!" Alexandra exclaimed, grabbing Emma's hand again and leading the group deeper into the ballroom. Emma had loosed herself from the other Alexandra's grip within a few seconds, but the presence of Rose and Davan still managed to corral her to where they wanted to go.

She had to be polite. This was an important political function. She had to be polite. It was just one night.

Emma's parents were in the far back of the room, talking animatedly with a laughing King Frederick and Queen Abigail. It was Abigail that noticed the approaching knot of royal children first, catching sight of her son and then of those he was accompanied by.

"Hello Davan, dear. And _Emma_ , there you are!"

Snow White and David turned immediately, relief clouding their faces when they spotted their daughter.

"Emma," Snow sighed, breaking away from the conversation and stepping forward to greet the wayward princess. "Your father and I were worried."

"Yes, sorry about that. There was a situation in the dungeon."

"Robin Hood was there!" Alexandra blurted.

There was a collective gasp. Emma cringed. "It was nothing. A negotiation. It's over. No one was hurt. There is no damage. It was a… misunderstanding."

David, ever the protective father, opened his mouth with that distressed look that heralded an incoming interrogation, but was interrupted by Snow, who took her husband's arm with one hand and her daughter's with the other.

"Let's talk about this," Snow said with a somewhat weary smile. "Tomorrow. I think your father can survive until then. Tonight, let's not worry about anything if it's all over. You, especially. Tonight is your birthday, Emma. Let's just have a good time; everything else can wait."

Emma glanced uncertainly at her father, who in turn glanced uncertainly at Snow. The two of them grew still, having another one of those conversations with their eyes, before David relaxed in reluctant agreement. Emma let out a breath of relief she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Yeah," Emma said. "Let's."

The majority of their audience let out a sigh of disappointment, but no questions came; Snow's decision was one they would abide by. Tomorrow was when the real gossip would begin.

Tomorrow, however, was still a night away.

"Well," David said, swallowing down his unease. "Now that we have you here, what do you say we begin the ball in earnest?"

Emma blushed and nodded sheepishly. When no protests came, David turned and made his way to the raised gazebo in the center of the room. It was a structure that had seen many rituals in its time, not the least of which was the marriage of Snow White and Prince Charming, and tonight it would see the next advent of their daughter's birth. David stepped onto the circular platform, signaling for the musicians to halt and for the heralds to raise their trumpets and announce his presence. The room went silent, relieved for their ball to _finally_ be starting, and all present turned to look at the king.

"Can I have everyone's attention?" he called out. "I have some words I'd like to say before we get underway." A moment's pause to make sure that he had the ears of everyone in his audience. "First of all, it's wonderful to see everyone enjoying themselves, and our family is immensely thankful that all of you have come. This is a special time, and we are blessed to be surrounded by such special friends." Another pause, and then he looked straight at Emma. "It's been many years since we first welcomed our daughter Emma into this world, and now look where she stands; twenty-eight, strong, beautiful, and praying that her father doesn't embarrass her in front of so many people."

A murmur of laughter rippled throughout the room.

"This has not been an easy path," David continued. "As many of you know, our kingdom hasn't always been the most… unified. And much hardship has been endured by many people, born in many places, to see this peace that has graced us. And looking around at my lovely daughter and at all of these wonderful people that have come to celebrate her and to honor us, I feel too grateful to put into words. So really, all I can say is thank you for your friendship and your support, because many kingdoms make up a land as tranquil as ours. And through the perseverance and determination of all of our kingdoms, this is a peace that has lasted for more years than I'm sure anyone would care to count. Thank you."

He stepped down to a roar of pleased applause, smiling encouragingly at his daughter as she took a deep breath, gathered her bravery and stepped onto the raised platform of the gazebo. Rehearsed words ran through her head, tumbling over each other frantically.

No. She had practiced this. It was all memorized. She would be fine.

Taking a deep breath, Emma looked up to face an entire ballroom of onlookers. "Well, doing my best to follow _that_ up…"

Another ripple of laughter, which was enough to give her some small drop of hope.

"There's not a lot I can say that my father didn't just take right out of my mouth, but here's to trying my best. Thank you, first of all. Seeing so many people coming here and connecting with each other, laughing, making that little rogue waltz in the corner…"

More laughter, as well as a few guilty blushes.

"I really feel so honored that you all are here, and that you're having such a good time. Because celebrations are really about the people there that are celebrating together and making memories. And you have come here from so many places, not just to celebrate my birthday, but to celebrate each other, and all the friendships we share. And I am honored that my birthday can be that stage for everyone, so that we can all remember what really matters: the connections we make with one another, and the bonds that bring so many strong kingdoms together. Thank you."

She stepped down to her own round of applause, lightheaded and uncertain of whether or not her feet were actually touching the ground. Her father was there, and seemed to read her thoughts; with a warm smile he put a supportive arm around her shoulder and kept her steady before swiping a glass of wine from a nearby tray and holding it high.

"To the friends we are thankful for!" he called out.

"To friends!" the room chorused back.

With the speeches given, the guests turned to each other to begin the ball in earnest. Snow waved to a servant, who darted away to start the long procession of food that would serve as the first event. Guests made their way to the long tables at the sides of the room, where there was already activity to fill up glasses and pull out chairs for the glittering nobles to be seated. David guided his daughter to where Snow was waiting, and within moments Emma was wrapped in an embrace.

"I'm so proud of you, Emma," Snow whispered.

"Thanks, mother."

The family took their seat at the end of one of the tables; as the subject of the celebration, Emma of course was the one that had to take the one-person width of the table's end so that she could see everyone else there, and so everyone else could see her. At her right sat her parents, and almost immediately the chair at her left was shadowed by the golden form of Prince Davan.

"Prince-Princess Emma," he stuttered, eyes flicking back and forth from hers to the open plate with the speed of a nervous sparrow. "Would you––would it––may I have the honor… can I sit here?" He froze at his less than spectacular finish, fixing Emma with a gaze similar to that of a terrified deer.

It was Snow that provided him with his answer. "Of course," she said, gesturing for him to sit. "We'd love to have you here."

Davan shuffled awkwardly into his chair. Snow shot a knowing smirk at her daughter, but hid it when Davan's parents made to follow.

"David!" Queen Abigail said, taking a seat next to her son while her husband took a seat next to her. "Those were fine words up there." She looked at Emma. "Yours, too. I've never ceased to be amazed by your family's gift for rhetoric."

Emma refrained from revealing that it had been her father who had made up most of her own speech, instead nodding respectfully. "Thank you, Queen Abigail. We're all glad you came."

"Oh, we wouldn't have missed it for the world!" the golden-haired woman replied. "The pirate problem has been taking up so much time at home; it's been making it too easy to come up with excuses not to visit. Really, we should be seeing each other much more often; it is an absolute delight to attend!" She cast a meaningful glance at her son. "For some even more than others."

Davan's face turned an almost instantaneous shade of crimson, and his eyes remained resolutely fixed on his plate. Emma resisted the urge to fidget uncomfortably.

"Yes, we've been hearing about that," Snow said, brow furrowing. "Such a shame. Is there any word on what might be causing it?"

"No more than rumors; there aren't any _more_ ships, as near as we can tell, there are just some that have decided to become more… proactive."

David shook his head. "Bad luck. My sympathies."

King Frederick shrugged with a mirthless chuckle. "It's to be expected, I suppose. My father-in-law can turn things into gold, after all. If it's not pirates, it's bandits; we've always had problems with scum of one sort or another."

"Let's not talk about this, though," Abigail cut him off with a shake of her head. "It's far too somber a topic for a birthday. Besides, the first course is being brought out."

The subject of pirates was laid to rest as the first of the food was filed into the ballroom and presented. The display was an elaborate layout of fruits, vegetables and cheeses, meant to be taken in small portions to whet the appetite and quiet noisy stomachs before the thick of the meal. Centerpieces were made of artfully arranged forests of greens, peppered carefully by the off-setting colors of fruits; peaches, plums, apples, every display had a different signature fruit, and around the base lay clusters of grapes of varying colors. Conversation throughout the guests ebbed for a moment as everyone collected their own array of appetizers, then swelled again when their food was in their possession.

"Emma," Davan blurted suddenly, drawing her attention. "I mean, princess… I'm sorry. Princess Emma, your speech was… I was inspired. It was inspiring."

"... Thank you."

"You have good rhetoric. No, I mean… your rhetorical skills are… strong."

Emma dipped her head. "Thank you, prince Davan. To be honest, I was more than a little worried when I stepped up there."

His tension seemed to ebb for a moment. "Worried? There's no reason for you to worry. It was wonderful." But then his uneasiness caught up to him and he looked back down at his plate. "I'd like more of your rhetoric," he mumbled quietly.

Emma leaned closer, not quite certain she had heard him correctly. "What was that?"

"May we dance?" he said a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of both of their parents. "I mean, not now, but… later when there's dancing, can we… may I have the honor of a dance? With you?"

Emma didn't dare look to see the expressions of the four monarchs watching them. "I would _like_ to," she said, keeping her eyes firmly on Davan, whose eyes were now firmly on Emma's plate. "But I'm afraid… earlier tonight, when I was late, I… my foot, I strained it. I don't know if it would be wise to dance tonight."

Davan's face fell, and Emma bit her lip uncertainly. She had to be polite. This was an important political function. It was just for one night.

"But maybe, when the dancing is done… if you'd like, I would like to talk with you. I hear that your coronation is coming up." Davan looked up, signalling for Emma to continue. "Perhaps when you have danced your fill, you would like to join me for some conversation?"

"Yes," was Davan's hasty reply. "That would––yes––I would like that very much."

With her night promised, Emma returned her attention to her food, still refusing to look up at either set of parents. The sharpness of the cheese was enough of a distraction, and she decided to pass the time trying to figure out what combinations of things would be nice. She spend the rest of the course silently experimenting with grapes and lettuce.

The second course was somewhat heavier than the first, although still remained rather light; broth and thin soups replaced plants and dairy, along with bread and garnishes. David struck up a conversation with Frederick about the difficulty of managing roadside bandits, which Abigail and Snow soon took part in, and it gave Emma some comfort to know that she was no longer under direct observation. She could feel Davan's relief, as well; his nervous constitution was done no favors by the surveillance of her parents. While Emma did not have much in common with the golden-haired prince, the scrutiny of their families was something neither of them liked one bit. It was enough of a starter for her to look over to him and watch as he picked lethargically at his soup, dipping the occasional cracker but otherwise content to swirl it with his spoon.

"Is the soup not to your liking?" Emma asked.

Davan looked up, apparently surprised that Emma would voluntarily open a dialogue. After a moment of stunned silence, he shook his head. "No, it's fine. I'm just not hungry."

"It's alright," Emma said, grasping for anything that might keep the unbearable silence away for longer. "I don't much like soup, either." To demonstrate, she set down her spoon and pushed her delicious-looking soup away.

This seemed to inspire at least a smidge of confidence in the prince, who nodded. "What about turkey? Do you like turkey?"

"I do like turkey. What about you?"

And so began their conversation for the night as each revealed what foods they liked or did not like. Emma did her best to try and fit her tastes to his––if he said he didn't like something, she would profess dislike for it, too. And, by some strange coincidence, whenever she conveyed displeasure at foods she _actually_ didn't like, he would usually agree with her and dislike the same thing.

Emma silently praised whatever gods were watching over her when the main course made its way out and put a stop to it.

This one was the heaviest of the courses, filled with meat and dough and potatoes. Warm and thick, with centerpieces of animals roasted whole and posed in the middle of fantastic arrangements of tubers and cooked vegetables. Every piece had a different beast; a boar at the far end, a re-feathered peacock not ten feet down the table, two roosters locked in a motionless battle––Graham had outdone himself on the hunt for this meal. The variety was astounding.

But Emma hadn't entirely been expecting the swan to be lain in before her and their two families, fully feathered and nestled in a piled of boiled eggs.

"Oh my!" Abigail exclaimed in admiration. "What a beautiful display! I feel almost ashamed to cut into it."

David laughed. "Then allow me to be the first to be ashamed. Soup and salad doesn't exactly fill a man up." He picked up the knife and began to peel away the swan's feathers and shear off slices of the breast meat.

"Emma?" It was Davan, low and curious.

Emma jumped, startled. She hadn't realized she had been staring at their centerpiece. "Yes. Sorry. What?"

"Are you alright?" He looked concerned.

"Yes." Emma nodded. "I'm fine."

Davan accepted her words and nodded, reaching to take a piece of the bird.

Emma's appetite seemed to have fled at the arrival of the swan, although she managed a few potatoes and some carrots. The rest of the meal went by in relative silence for her; Snow managed to lure Davan into a conversation about his relationships with the monarchs of other kingdoms, leaving Emma alone to a relatively empty plate. Finally, guests began to rise from their seats as they finished with their meal and servants emerged from the kitchens carrying platters of pastries and dry wines to end the dinner. Abigail and Frederick were first to leave the conversation and venture towards the center of the ballroom where the first dance was making ready to start, and after a few moments were tailed by Davan and then by Snow and David. Now burdened by her tale of an injured foot, Emma remained seated. Not that she minded; the princess had managed her entire life with only nine dances in all of the balls she had ever attended, and she had no desire to end her record now.

Her mother, she knew, loved dancing, although she admittedly had a habit for rewriting the steps halfway through, while her father was content with following Snow's lead and doing what made his wife happy. Abigail and Frederick, however, proved to be much more traditional and formal after a few rounds, a trait that they shared with their son. Although it might have been the case that Davan simply didn't know any other way to dance, which was probably why the poor man looked absolutely terrified when Snow cut into his waltz with his mother and swept him away, much to everyone's amusement. There was a ripple as the ring adjusted to the sudden disruption, but most of them were familiar with Snow White's whimsical regard for balls and had no trouble with it, much to the fearful dismay of Davan.

Having decided that her evening was due for a break, Abigail spent a few moments watching her son and her friend before turning and making her way away from the dance floor––and straight towards Emma, who remained at the now-clear dinner table.

"Emma!" Abigail said breathlessly the moment she was in earshot. "Do you mind if I join you for a moment?"

"Getting your second wind?" Emma asked with a small smile.

"Of course. I'm not finished yet." The queen gave her a wink before sitting in the next chair over. "This is really quite a lovely ball, Emma."

"Thank you. I can't take much credit, though; I'm not very good at planning events."

"You're good at leading them, though."

Emma looked down, feeling a blush creep into her face. Abigail saw it and chuckled. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's not even that surprising, really. I know that our family doesn't visit yours as much as we should, and I am sorry about that. Your father saved my husband's life and returned him to me, and that is something for which we both will be forever grateful."

Emma nodded, familiar with the story. "It was the honorable thing to do."

Abigail gave her a soft smile. "You are so similar to your father, Emma. And your mother, too. I have known you since you were a little one, and every time I see you I am impressed anew. You have grown into such a beautiful and graceful woman, it's difficult to put into words. You are strong and kind and courteous, and you are an inspiration."

Emma knew that her face was at least strawberry in color by now. Abigail noticed, and it made her smile even wider.

"Emma." Abigail reached forward and took Emma's hands. Emma stiffened, but couldn't do the offense of pulling them away; the queen didn't seem to notice her discomfort with the touch, and continued without concern. "I know that this is a large event for you, and you undoubtedly have many things ahead to prepare yourself for the crown, whenever your parents decide you are ready. But Davan's coronation is next month, and we would be honored for you to attend. Our families have always been close. Perhaps it's time to bring them even closer."

Emma blinked, not quite taken off guard but not quite expecting the proposal, either. Going to a coronation… it didn't sound like something particularly _enjoyable_ , but… it was important. Emma had had her fair share of birthday balls and even a few naming ceremonies, but a coronation was different. A coronation was attended by monarchs and lords, there to solidify alliances and establish a rapport with the new king or queen. Coronations were attended by people with _power._ Emma's parents were the ones that were invited to coronations; a princess did not have influence worthy of attendance, not until she became a queen herself and had something to offer.

With such a weighty invitation suddenly given to her, how could she refuse? Did she _want_ to refuse?

It didn't matter what she wanted. She _couldn't_ refuse.

"I'll… talk to my parents about it. Yes. I'll work on figuring out… logistics. It's a bit… much, to figure out so quickly."

Abigail nodded. "I completely understand, Emma. And I hope it is possible. Everyone knows how busy you keep yourself, even as a princess." Her expression changed to one of coy playfulness. "I'm sure Davan will be happy to hear the good news."

Davan. Emma had almost forgotten; it was _his_ coronation. She nodded dumbly, and Abigail stood up with a chuckle.

"Well," the queen sighed, turning to return to the dancing. "I think I've gotten that second wind. I'm sorry about your foot, Emma; keep it rested, dear. Such a pity you pulled it on the night of your birthday."

* * *

As always, constructive criticism appreciated.


	3. Moonlit Gardens

Wow, thank so much for the positive feedback, everyone! I'm not uploading as quickly as I would like to, but here's number three. I know the buildup's slow; my apologies. I'll try and speed things up in future chapters.

* * *

The night wore on according to plan. The dancing ebbed after about an hour, the music died down to a plain spread of neutral background music and the dancers found seats to regain their breath. When that was finished, the next and last thing on the agenda was the giving of gifts––something Emma was _not_ looking forward to. But what was a party without gifts? It was a necessary evil, and she knew better than to complain when she was asked to stand and return to the raised ceremonial pavilion, where a herald stood at her shoulder and called out the names of the guests, who one by one came to her and presented what they had brought.

Jewels. Dresses. Perfumes. At least half of the gifts were things that Emma knew for certain would either be used rarely or not at all, but she couldn't afford to be ungrateful; every gift was met with a polite smile and a formal, wordy thank-you before being handed off to the servants, who were arranging a large display of them in the back of the room.

There were, of course, pleasant exceptions in the form of the occasional weapon or tool or other such practical thing, or even in the form of outright strange; the couple from Agrabah were proud to give her a person-sized bronze statue of a cobra with sapphires for eyes, while Alexandra and her parents gave her a basin fashioned from the shell of a dragon's egg.

When Davan was called up, Emma couldn't help a swell of apprehension; she knew very little about the way he thought, although she supposed his gift would give some light. His parents hung back, although they were giving encouraging looks to the both of them as the prince made his nervous way to Emma and held up what his family had brought.

It wasn't _quite_ a dress… but it wasn't exactly anything else, either. It was an armored dress, more specifically, with skirts and an underlayer of golden silk and overlain with… it appeared to be chainmail over the bust and stomach, with interlocking plates over the shoulders and a scaled belt to protect the hips and upper thighs. There was a certain... _golden_ beauty to it, and the plate had clearly been crafted to be visually appealing, but still, it was… sort of practical. More practical than most of her dresses, anyway.

"Thank you, Prince Davan," Emma said with a curtsey and a respectful nod. "You honor me with your gift."

Davan returned to the crowd and the next guest was called for. By that time, more than half the guests had already presented their presents, and the arrangement table in the back of the room was groaning under the weight of favors. There was also a tired, lethargic boredom that was creeping around the room, one that even Emma could feel deep in her bones; if it wasn't already midnight, it would surely be so soon, and for the majority of the guests, the rest of their evening would be spent in a silent wait for the entire affair to be over so they could go to sleep. Emma was thankful that they were almost at the end of the list; a quick glance at the scroll in the herald's arms revealed that there were four more families to give presents, which passed by in a blur––one gave a cape, another a dress, then a pair of shoes followed, bizarrely, by a live hawk––and then there was only Rose Briar and her family left, which turned out to have been organized that way because their gift was outside. Emma and a few others shuffled their way onto a balcony, where down below a servant presented a brilliant white horse, fine-boned and high-crested like the southern kingdoms were known for. It was a pleasant surprise, and Emma joined in on the appreciative clapping; it was a beautiful animal, and at least this was a gift she knew she would be availing herself of in the future.

The group made its way back inside, and then her father was suddenly at her shoulder. "That's it," he said. "I'll wrap up the last formalities. Then, when they're gone, your mother and I have our own presents for you."

Emma turned, eyebrow arched. "This late?"

Her father grinned. "It won't be long, I promise. And you can sleep for as long as you want tomorrow." His expression suddenly turned stern. "So long as we talk about what happened with Hood when you wake up."

Emma nodded. "Agreed."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and planted a kiss on her temple. "I'm so proud of you, Emma."

"Thank you, father."

David left her to her own devices and threaded his way to the pavilion, where he called for everyone's attention and began another thank-you speech. Emma hardly listened; she already knew what he was going to say, and she wouldn't be following him up this time; she was beyond exhausted, and all she wanted was to crawl into her bed and stay there for a week.

"Emma!" It was her mother, glowing with a joyful smile as she joined her daughter and linked arms. "I was wondering if you'd managed to slip away yet."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, mother; I know better than that. I'm not going to sneak off from a ball."

Her mother gave her a mischievous look. "It's your birthday. If there's any night you could get away with something, it's tonight."

"Don't tell me you _wanted_ me to sneak off?"

Snow shrugged. "I'm just saying, I wouldn't have given you trouble for it."

Not knowing how to respond, Emma just turned and watched as her father completed his speech. He was treated to the customary applause, and guests almost immediately began to file out of the ballroom and towards their quarters.

Emma was rendered completely unsurprised when Davan chose instead to come towards her.

"Princess Emma," he stuttered, looking at her feet. "This was a lovely ball. I––thank you for inviting my family. I––we––it was a pleasure. I regret that we did not get to converse."

Yes, they had agreed to do that, hadn't they? Emma had almost forgotten. "I suppose we will have to do it some other time."

"Yes. Thank you. I mean… goodnight."

"Goodnight, Prince Davan."

Davan left to rejoin his parents, who were casting coy glances back at the birthday princess. Emma tried not to notice them, which became easier when her father left the pavilion and returned to his wife and daughter.

"Well," he said. "That certainly could have been worse."

"It was _lovely_ ," Snow sighed. Then her eyes brightened suddenly, and she looked back and forth between Emma and her husband. "David, did you tell her…?"

He chuckled. "Yes, she knows." He leveled a helpless glance at Emma. "You know how your mother is with gifts. We'd best begin before she excites herself sick."

"I'm not sick! I'm just… excited."

Emma grinned and glanced at her father, who was grinning right back with a knowing sparkle in his eye. A shared nod, and then he turned to take one of the smaller hallways that branched off from the main ballroom. "This way," he said. "Let's do it in the gardens. It's a beautiful night out."

Emma tilted her head, but followed. "You're not going to have some surprise party set up there, are you?"

David nodded seriously. "Of course. We have an entire other ball planned in the garden for you, with two hundred more guests and three more speeches for you to make, just like you've always wanted."

"David!" Snow White shoved him playfully. "Don't tease her!"

David couldn't quite manage stifle his mischievous smile, but he said no more on the matter, and Emma kept her chuckle to herself.

The night was indeed a beautiful one. A half-moon hung sleepily over the western horizon, almost ready to slip below it in another hour or so. There was a general bustle about the corridors of the castle as servants made their masters comfortable after a long night of socializing, but the exterior of the building was almost deafeningly silent by comparison; no one had come out tonight, and the hedge-gardens were completely deserted. The moonlight forged the grass into a sea of liquid silver, and the only sounds to be heard were the crickets, the night-birds, the gentle sighing of the fountains and the footsteps of the three silk-wrapped royals as they may their way into the depths of the manicured foliage.

Her parents chose a secluded corner of the gardens, closed in by tall, neatly trimmed hedges and protected from prying eyes. There was a small raised pond in the center of the space, and on that pond floated a swan. It raised its head as the trio approached, observed for a moment, and then decided that the company was not worth remaining for; the bird spread its wings and abandoned the pond in a pearly splash.

"Sorry," Snow White murmured after the retreating swan.

"I don't think it heard you," Emma remarked, having long since become accustomed to her mother's habit of talking at birds.

Snow sighed. "No, probably not." After a moment of reverie, the queen shifted her focus to her husband. "So? Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Emma agreed. "What is it that's gotten us out here in the middle of the night, exactly?"

"You first," David said to Snow.

Snow nodded and turned to Emma, reaching into the pockets hidden in her dress and retrieving a square, gray velvet wrapped parcel. "Here," she said, holding it out.

Emma took the bundle and weighed it in her hands. It was certainly a box, although it did not hold anything particularly heavy; much of the weight seemed to come from whatever the box was made of and from the velvet itself. Curious, Emma found the edge of the cloth and unwrapped her present to discover that it was indeed a box that she had been given. It was crafted of a dark wood that Emma couldn't see quite clearly enough to identify, and it had been lacquered to a fine sheen. Upon opening the box, the princess found something even more beautiful: a necklace, intricately tooled and delicately set with countless glinting sapphires. It was a breathtaking piece of jewelry, and it was a piece of jewelry that she recognized instantly. It was her mother's most well-worn accessory.

"Here," Snow White interjected, picking the necklace up and circling behind her daughter. "Let me see it on you." She set about to fastening it around Emma's neck. "My mother gave me this necklace when I was nine, and she got it from her mother. It's been in our family for many years. It's time for you to wear it." The queen returned to her husband's side, her breath halting at the sight of Emma wearing the jeweled silver. A moment of silent marveling, and then she sighed and smiled wistfully, eyes sparkling. "You are beautiful, Emma."

Emma touched the necklace with half-believing fingers. She knew the story behind it. It was her mother's most treasured necklace. To be receiving it _now…_ it was somewhat surreal. It was more than just a birthday present.

David gave Snow's shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping forward to present his gift. Emma expected him to do something similar to his wife, to reach into a pocket and pull out something equally as grand, but he defied her expectations; instead, her father grasped the hilt of his sword, drew it with a flourish, then took it in both hands and held it out.

"Happy twenty-eighth."

Emma opened her mouth. Then she closed it. Then she opening it again, looking back and forth between her parents. "You… this? You're not… for me?"

He nodded, half-amused, half-serious. "Yes. This is a strong blade. It has seen me through many hard battles. It defeated Bo Beep. It defeated a dragon. It defeated the Evil Queen. And I think that it's time for this blade to defeat your enemies."

Emma ran a finger along the edge of the blade, not quite able to comprehend the entirety of what he was offering her. He twitched the weapon towards her suggestively, and she managed to wrap her fingers around the handle. It was sturdy in her palm, but warm and comfortable from years of service. When her father let go for her to hold it on her own, it was lighter than she expected––Emma had wielded a fair number of swords in her time, but had never, ever expected to wield _this_ one.

"What's going on?" Emma breathed. "Why all of this? Why now?" She looked back up at her parents. "This isn't just about my birthday, is it?"

Snow sighed wistfully. "Emma… you are such a strong, beautiful woman. You've grown so much, and it's…" she paused to blink hard, "... it's made us so proud. I am so glad to be your mother. I love you so much." She looked down.

Emma arched an eyebrow. "And…?"

It was David who elaborated. "And, you've proven yourself to be an outstanding leader. With the people, with the guards; you've impressed other kingdoms every year. You're a princess, and you've even been invited to a coronation."

Emma's lips drew into a thin, tense smile. "They told you about that."

Snow grasped her daughter's hands. "Emma, that's something to be _proud_ of. We _are_ proud of you. We are so proud of you. And someday, you are going to be the best queen this kingdom has ever seen." She stepped back, into her husband's arms, and her eyes took on a more sober sheen. "Someday soon."

 _Someday soon._

Emma touched the necklace and stared at the sword. "Someday soon," she repeated quietly.

"You're ready, Emma," David said. "Not today, not tomorrow, but your mother and I see it in you every day. You are already so much wiser and more prepared than I was when I took the throne. We know with absolute certainty that you would have no problem with it."

Emma let the sword drop so she could give her full attention to her parents. "You want to step down?"

"Not immediately!" Snow reassured her. "Not right now. But… soon. We aren't young anymore, and, like your father said, you are _more_ than ready for it."

Emma tilted her head. To say that they wanted to step down was one thing, but to bequeath her with a family heirloom and a family sword was a just few steps short of a promise. To accept these gifts, which were almost symbols of her parents' rulership itself, was not a small gesture. "Are you sure that's it? There has to be something else. Why do all of this tonight, on my twenty-eighth, specifically?"

Something flickered over their faces. Something bright. Something happy.

"There _is_ ," Emma said, unable to let that flicker go unnoticed. "What is it? Has something happened?"

After a moment of hesitation, Snow nodded, almost… shyly? "Yes," she practically whispered. "Something wonderful has happened, Emma."

"What?"

Her parents looked at each other, and that one look was enough to set free the blissful smiles waiting beneath the surface. Snow looked back at Emma, put a gentle hand on her stomach and delivered the answer. "Emma… we're pregnant."

Emma blinked. It took a moment for her to hear what her mother said, and then to repeat it inside her head to make sure she had heard it correctly.

"You're pregnant."

Snow nodded emphatically. "Yes."

Emma suddenly felt like… she didn't know, like she was suddenly made of water. She sat down on the raised edge of the pond. "Pregnant."

David wrapped his arms around his wife. "Pregnant," he confirmed.

They were pregnant. There was a little person growing inside of her mother. A little person who was her sibling.

"I'm going to be a sister?"

Snow was practically glowing. "You're going to be a sister."

Emma stood up and made her way over to her mother, although she couldn't for the life of her feel her feet touching the ground, and set her hand on the queen's stomach. "There's a little one in there?"

"Your little brother, Emma," David chuckled. "Or a little sister. It's too early to know."

Emma laughed. She couldn't help it, and then once it started she couldn't hold it back. Her parents were pregnant. After so many years of growing up by herself, she was going to be a sibling.

"I'm going to be a big sister," Emma managed to get out between gasps.

Before she knew it, the three of them were locked in a tangle of arms in something that might have been intended as a hug. She wasn't the only one laughing, but she was the first one to get it all out, and soon she was staring down at her mother's abdomen, grinning like a cat.

"Wow," she chuckled. "That's…"

"... I know," her father finished, planting a kiss on her temple. "And they're going to have the best sister in all the realms."

Suddenly, Emma understood. "You don't want to raise a baby as king and queen." She looked back up at her parents. "You want to step down before it's born."

Snow nodded. "Yes, we were hoping for that."

Emma looked at the sword in her hand. "You… really think I'm ready?"

"Of course," Snow giggled. "What have we been telling you for the past twenty minutes?"

Emma stepped back, raising her father's––no, _her_ sword––to take a closer look at the steel of the blade. "You think I'm ready to be a queen. By myself."

" _Well…"_ Snow cut herself off before continuing.

Emma's eyes snapped to her mother's. "Well? Well what?"

"Nothing. It's just… your father and I know you can do it. Even by yourself. You are a great leader, but… I don't know, we wouldn't mind if it _wasn't_ by yourself. We know you're capable, but your father and I ruled together for many, many years, and it was still a difficult task, even with two sharing it. We had each other to lean on." She sent a loving look towards her husband. "We helped each other. And that was what made us strong."

"You want me to rule with someone else?" It wasn't a very large leap of logic.

Snow shook her head. "No, Emma, we want you to _have_ someone else. You're so good at doing things on your own, and that's great, but… sometimes we get… a little worried."

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "Worried?"

Snow shrugged. "It's just, you're always either in your room or working. You hardly ever call on your ladies in waiting. I don't think I've _ever_ seen you show interest in getting to know a stranger."

"I have things to do. I'm in charge of the guards now."

"And that's _wonderful,_ Emma, and you are doing so well and we are so proud of you. But this is a big responsibility, and being a queen makes it hard to leave. There won't be a lot of time for you to meet people you don't already know. We love you, Emma, and we want you to be happy, but having a baby will make it hard for us, too, and you work so much already…" she grabbed her daughter's hands. "We just don't want you to be alone. And being a queen, especially by yourself… it makes it really, really easy to be alone. And being alone is _terrible;_ I've tried to do it before, a long time ago, and when I found David I found out that I didn't have to, and that it is _amazing_ to have someone else be there for you when you need it."

"Is that why you kept giving me and Davan those looks tonight?"

Snow let out an embarrassed chuckle. "Oh, Emma, I'm sorry; we shouldn't have done that. I mean, it's clear that Davan _likes_ you, and I don't exactly _blame_ him for it. He's nice, and our families have always been close, but it certainly doesn't have to be him. If you don't like him that way, I know his parents will understand, and so will he; we've weathered worse in our relationship with Midas' kingdom. He's invited you to his coronation, and we think that you should definitely go, but please, Emma, _don't_ push your heart towards somewhere it isn't meant to be. We want you to find happiness, and we'll love you no matter where you find it."

Both parents stepped forward to wrap Emma in a warm hug. A moment's hesitation, and she threaded her arms around them to hug back, mind racing. Her parents were pregnant. She was to have the throne before the birth. And her parents wanted her to find love before taking the throne.

Snow drew back enough to kiss Emma's forehead lovingly. "Look, you don't have to decide anything tonight. It's your birthday. It's been a long night, and it's been a long ball. You hosted wonderfully. Take as much time as you want to mull things over."

David stepped in. "Well, don't take nine months to mull things over, but you get the drift."

Emma nodded. "Yeah. I do. Thank you." She looked at the sword and touched the necklace. "Thank you, really. For everything. I love you two."

A pair of beaming smiles, one more hug, and then they parted ways. Her parents left first, but Emma remained by the pond for a while longer, staring into her moonlit reflection without thinking. Eventually the swan returned to take back its place on the surface of the water, and at its offended honking the princess left the quiet stillness of the gardens and returned to the castle. The previous activity had died down, leaving the halls relatively deserted save for the guards on night patrol, who would nod respectfully at her as she passed. Anastasia had almost certainly gone to bed long ago, and so Emma's room was empty when she stepped in. She undressed in contemplative silence, trading her pearled gown for a simple satin shift, then crawled into her bed. But as tired as she was, she couldn't find it in her to sleep.

Her parents were pregnant. That was the most prominent matter on her mind. She would be a sibling soon, a fact that filled her with equal amounts of joy and dread. Was she ready? Was she even _capable_ of being a sister, when she couldn't have even manage being a––

––no, she couldn't go there. Her mind slammed against a flat wall barring back unwanted memories, and she turned away from it before it could take her farther.

Whether she was ready or not, she was going to be a sister. She had seen many a servant overjoyed at the start of their own family, but she had also seen the toll they took. Time. Love. Care. Despite the happiness they brought, babies needed to be provided for. Her parents already had their hands full with running the kingdom; Emma completely understood why they wanted to step down before the baby was born. Whatever her own feelings about the situation, she valued her parents' well-being far above her own; they _needed_ her to take the throne so they could focus on their new child.

They _needed_ Emma to be queen, which was the second most pressing matter in her mind.

The third most pressing was the way her mother had ended the conversation.

 _We want you to have someone._ The hidden desperation in those words had not escaped Emma's notice; her mother had not been lying when she admitted that she was worried. Not that Emma could blame her; she _was_ distant. She didn't have any close friends, and she hadn't been interested in anyone since––

––the past was better left in the past.

Her parent's worry was almost as big a concern as the baby. How long had they been worrying about her? The idea of it made Emma's stomach clench in guilt. She hated seeing her parents worried, doubly so when she was the one they were worried about. The fact that they were concerned was a much larger issue than the fact that they wanted her to 'find someone;' it had been ten years since Emma had opened herself up to what her parents thought to be 'happiness.' Even if she wanted to, she doubted it was something she'd be able to do again. Her parents had been lucky to find each other. Abigail and Frederick had been lucky. Aurora and Philip had been lucky. All in all, those born into royalty seemed destined to have their happy endings; fortune appeared to favor the well-bred.

It wasn't at all surprising that her parents assumed her destined for the same. And if that was what would make them happy, it was a destiny she would fulfill. She couldn't allow her parents to be worried, not with such big news looming over them and with a baby on the way. Emma knew that she was not the same as her parents, nor really as anyone that had attended her birthday ball; that kind of true love was not written into her future, of that she was certain. But she had managed twenty-eight years without true love; who was to say she couldn't manage a bit more?

Inevitably, her thoughts strayed towards Davan, and to the looks they had received from both sets of parents. He was really the only male royal of acceptable age that she had more than a passing acquaintanceship with. It would be correct to say that their families were close; her father had been responsible for freeing Frederick, after all, and he and Abigail had always been friends. Their kingdoms had been halfway towards a merger thirty years ago.

And Davan certainly liked her; there was no doubt about that. He tripped over his words with her in a way that she had never seen him do with anyone else. She had been invited to his coronation, a bold gesture to make towards a mere princess. His parents certainly liked her, and he certainly wasn't _unpleasant;_ although he was a bit more nervous and jumpy than Emma would have liked, it wasn't something that _annoyed_ her so much as something she just didn't know what to do with. And he did have a lean attractiveness to him, in a golden, wiry sort of way. Marrying him wouldn't be a discomfort, at least.

With all options considered, Davan was entirely… serviceable. Tense, but undeniably _nice_ , pleasantly attractive and heir to their closest ally. There wasn't a storyteller in the world that could have written the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming a more perfect happy ending.

Yes, she would attend Davan's coronation. She would entertain his shaky advances, and when the time came, she would take the throne. Her parents wouldn't have to worry about her happiness any longer. And if marriage was proposed, then so be it. It wasn't a path Emma would have chosen for herself, but it was probably for the best; had she been able to, she would have chosen solitude. But with her parents' oncoming retirement and pregnancy, solitude was no longer an option.

The conclusion of her thoughts seemed to lay her mind to rest. With her decision made, images and concerns settled down and ceased to tumble about her head. The world seemed to get heavier as sleep crept through her body. Emma turned to stare at the stars in her ceiling. This path was not her ideal path, but it wasn't terrible. It was a path she could manage. No one would be left unhappy, and, in the end, that was the most important thing.

The stars faded from her eyes, and soon Emma fell into a deep, quiet sleep.

* * *

As always, constructive criticism is much appreciated!


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